


Let Go

by Perfica



Category: Stargate Atlantis RPF
Genre: 3000-5000 Words, Angst, Drama, F/M, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-05
Updated: 2006-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perfica/pseuds/Perfica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe wants to say something...but his lips won't form the words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Go

Joe's about five minutes away from home when he realises he's left next week's script back at the lot. He could drive in and get it tomorrow, then he'd still have the weekend to work on it, but it'll play on his mind all night, and it's not as if he's got anyone or anything waiting for him at home, so he pulls over to the side of the road and turns back the way he came.

The guard sitting at the gate barely lifts his eyes from the little TV he's watching in the booth; just raises his hand in a half-hearted way as Joe flashes his I.D. and punches in his code. By the time the gate has rolled back and Joe's almost driven his car through, the guard has settled back into his chair, one hand idly picking corn chips out of the bag in his lap.

He's wrong; the script isn't in his trailer. By the time he's given up the search, he's blowing white steam onto his hands and jogging to the catering van, but the seats around it are bare apart from a couple of empty sandwich wrappers.

There's only two cars still in the parking lot; three, if you count his. Joe recognises David's piece of crap little Honda sitting a couple of spaces away from a dark green Mazda he's never seen before. He doesn't think one of the producers has downgraded, so it must belong to one of the new tech crew who'd caught a lift with one of the old-timers. Friday nights are big nights for unwinding, especially amongst the behind-the-scenes staff. The actors hang out with them sometimes, but most of the time let them do their thing in private. They need a place and a space to bitch just as much as the front people do.

The big sliding doors that lead to the main sound stage are locked tight, but there's a side door that opens up without a squeak. Joe feels his way around the set – a few green lights have been left on and they're low against the wall, allowing people to pick their way over electrical cords and lighting leads and random boxes of props. He gets behind the walls, keeping an eye out for the bundle of pink sheets that would be his copy of the script, and decides to check out the make-up rooms. He'd stopped in there just before leaving, wanting to say a quick thanks to Terry who'd sneaked him some more of that cream that stopped his face and neck from drying out because of all the base they had to use on him. The camera loves the angles of his face, just not his skin tone that much.

When he turns into the corridor he can see light beaming from one of the open doors. He picks up the sound of a conversation, but it's too low from him to recognise the speakers. As he gets closer he recognises Hewlett's laugh, and another voice laughs with him, female and deep and surprisingly flirtatious.

From where Joe's standing just outside of the rectangle of light, he can see David talking to a girl who's sitting up on one of the make-up benches, eight naked bulbs shining bright and harsh behind her. David's standing close, so close he's between her legs, and he's saying something while his hands move up and down her thighs. She seems entranced; her gaze never leaves his face and Joe recognises her as the woman who'd played 'Norina' that week – Sandy or Candy or some fucking name like it.

David leans in and whispers something in her ear, and the girl giggles and inhales, her obviously large and fake breasts brushing up against David's chest. Her hands curl around his shoulders and one of his hands brushes up her side, and then they're kissing.

Joe shouldn't be too surprised – he's been an actor for a long, long time now, and knows that, as a group, thespians get up to some crazy shit. So he's not fazed by the fact that it looks like David is cheating on his girlfriend, because Joe's been in situations before where you get a little too close to the characters you're playing, especially if you've been doing it for a while, and it's a little bit harder than you'd think to switch them off. And he's been to plenty of classes and done hundreds of hours of improv and spent months stuck in shitty little backwater towns with one milk bar and four real bars that all play the same type of music, so he knows what it's like to rely on your fellow actors. And everyone knows that what happens on tour stays on tour. There are whole weeks of his time in France that he can't remember, but he's knows he tried everything at least once, and some of them a whole lot more.

But that was in the past, and that still didn't explain why Sandy or Candy is letting David suck on her tongue while she squeezes him between her thighs. If David hadn't been in the industry for just as long, if not longer than Joe, than Joe would be feeling a little sorry for him, because it's quite possible that she's using him as a star fuck. But her hands look small and kind of fragile lying on the top of David's broad shoulders, and if she's acting, she's doing a better job of it than she did on the show, what with the squirming and the clenching and the letting her knees relax so David can slip a hand up her skirt.

He's not sure if he'd involuntarily made a sound, or if David just picked up a vibe, but when Joe lifts his eyes from what's going on between Sandy's legs, David's staring into the mirror, and they can see each other perfectly in the reflection. David stiffens slightly and Candy opens her eyes, licking her lips as she tries to focus.

"Hi," she says, peering over David's shoulder at him.

Joe nods.

"Joe," David says, straightening up slowly. Joe notices he keeps his hands exactly where they were.

"Sorry," Joe says, trying to be flippant, ignoring the fact that he'd just been busted watching two people about to have sex. "Forgot my script. Thought I might have left it here."

David's eyes travel and land on a pile of pink papers on the couch against the wall. Joe sees it and nods, taking three big steps and picking it up. It's his copy; the edges are slightly curled from where he'd had it shoved down the back pocket of his jeans.

"So I'll…" he says, nodding towards the door. "Thanks."

"You can stay if you want," Sandy or Candy says, tilting her head to the side. "The more the merrier."

And Joe's chest fills with a white-hot flash of rage. It's bad enough she's probably using David to advance her career, but to drag him into it as well?

"I don't think so," Joe says between grit teeth and he catches David's gaze in the mirror.

David won't stop staring at him and, as if sensing a weakness, smirks and says, "If it's okay with Brandy, it's okay with me."

Smug bastard, throwing out a challenge where there was no challenge at all. David must be able to see it on his face because he turns back to Brandy, Brandy, and chuckles, "You know these California boys – all attitude but as conservative as a minister's wife."

And the gauntlet has been thrown, so Joe has no choice but to plonk his ass down on the couch and watch. He'll be fucked if he'll join in, but he'll also be fucked if he'll leave the two of them alone.

From the angle he's sitting, he can see Brandy's feet crossing over just under David's ass, the thin straps of her shoes twisting up her smooth ankles. David's kissing her neck, and she's got her eyes half-open, watching Joe.

Joe can't see where David's hands are, but whatever it is he's doing, she's liking it, because her mouth is dropping open in a pleased 'Oh' and her eyes are finally fully closed. There's a moment when David takes a step back in the circle of her legs and fumbles with something in his pocket, and Joe looks at the floor when he hears the sound of rubber snapping on.

There's another moment where everything's still, then Brandy lets out a low moan and David's ass flexes, and he's in, Joe can tell he's in, because his hips are rocking back and forth smoothly, and Brandy's fingers are digging into David's biceps, and the sounds get louder, and faster, and Joe can't tell that David's come but he can tell that she has, because her legs kick out and her knees lock, and she's panting into his ear.

Joe swallows hard and fidgets on the couch. David's pulling back and straightening his pants and Brandy's wiggling on the bench and Joe promises himself he will never, ever sit at that spot again. She whispers something in David's ear and he laughs, then gives her a kiss and helps her down. Brandy adjusts the strap around one of her ankles and picks up her handbag and cardigan, saying she'll be fine getting to her car and thanks for everything and she'll see them both around.

David drops onto the sofa next to him, and Joe straightens up and moves aside. He notices that he's got his script rolled up tight in his hand and opens it, flattening it against one of his knees.

"Nice girl," David says, only slightly out of breath and not in the least bit sweaty.

Joe makes a noncommittal sound and leans forward to get up and go because the game is over, the challenge was accepted, and now he can get back into his car and drive back to his empty home and have a disgustingly long, hot shower and try to get the images out of his brain so he can get some sleep.

But David grabs him by the wrist and looks down at his lap, and Joe follows his gaze and realises he's hard, throbbingly hard, and he never even knew it. He keeps his head down – he'd rather stare at his own cock than look up and see the expression on Hewlett's face.

"Looks like somebody's got a problem," David says, tightening his grip on Joe's wrist. Joe tries to pull his arm away but the grip is too tight, and then it disappears as David slides down to the floor and gets on his knees in front of him. Joe wants to say something, something like _'No'_ or _'I'm not her' _or _'What the hell do you think you're doing?'_ but his lips won't form the words because David's undoing his belt and tugging open the buttons of his jeans and pulling his boxers out of the way enough so he can dip his hand into Joe's pants and come up with his hard dick in his hand.

David's breathing right on the head and Joe shivering. He's lost, and stuck, and wants to move and wants to stay, and David must know him a whole lot better than he thought because his blue eyes soften and he says, "It takes a guy to know how to suck a good cock," and then his head is descending, and his mouth is getting closer and closer to Joe's lap, and Joe's hands aren't controlled by him anymore because they land on David's shoulders, and pet them while David gives him the best blowjob he's had in years.

He doesn't think he said anything too outrageous, but David's mouth is sweet and hot and wet on him, and welcoming, and his tongue is writing poetry up the shaft, and his lips are kissing the head, and Joe's vaguely aware of the fact that he's moaning but doesn't realise that most of the words are David's name.

When it's over Joe's hands drop away from David's neck and he's spent; limbs loose and exhausted, so David tucks him back into his pants and does up the buttons, each tiny bit of pressure sending pleasurable aftershocks through Joe's stomach. David stands up and Joe's aware of the fact that David's hard again; his cock is stiff and pressing up against the front of his pants. David strokes it once through the material, palm in, and Joe inhales sharply. He reaches out and his fingers nearly brush the back of David's hand, but he pulls away at the last second and his hand forms a fist. When he finally works up the courage to look at David's face, it's set, and his mouth is twisted into a displeased line and he nods, hard, once, then turns and leaves.

Joe can hear the door to the parking lot slam from where he's sitting.

~~~

In a logical world Joe would be the one avoiding David, since he'd so embarrassingly failed to hold up his end of the unspoken agreement, but he's been trying to get David alone for a week, and Hewlett is being surprisingly elusive. They're fine on set; complete professionals, and if anyone notices that their banter isn't as forthcoming as it usually is, or that David is spending most of his free time holed up in his trailer or hiding in Paul's, no one's saying anything.

Gero's pleased with the amount of catch-up shooting they've done that week, so shouts the cast and crew dinner at the local steak house, and it's getting near the end of season so people's spirits are up and nearly everyone is overflowing with glee at the prospect of a long break.

Joe goes straight home after the shoot's finished and showers, shaves meticulously, spends five minutes deciding on what to wear instead of just picking up the first clean set of clothes he can find. He drives to the restaurant with the radio off, intent on getting there slowly and carefully.

By the time he arrives, nearly everyone's there – Martin is playing pool with Paul, and Jason is having a quiet conversation with one of the catering girls. Most of the crew are wedged around a pinball machine, laughing and slapping the back of the grip, who's 22 and looks about 19. He waves hi to them as he makes his way to the back of the room, where the Atlantis cast and crew have staked out three long tables.

David's sitting on the end of one, bracketed on either side by Torri and Rachel, who are having a conversation which consists of talking over one another and waving their hands in front of each other's face while laughing after every fourth word. David is drinking steadily, swallowing a shot of something that is probably bourbon and coke before refilling his glass from the near empty pitcher.

"Joe!" Torri yells, standing up and waving him over. Rachel smiles and pats the chair next to her while David looks up, then slams down another shot.

"Hey," Joe drawls, hanging his leather jacket on the chair Rachel pulled out for him and sitting down. "So, what did I miss?"

Rachel and Torri laugh and talk over one another, and he picks up enough of their chatter to work out that Jason hasn't left Isabella's side all night, and Martin is unstoppable on the table, and half of the lighting crew have gone to another bar to see a live band, but Joe's staring at David, who refuses to meet his eye.

"Sounds like fun," Joe says, smoothly picking up the thread of the conversation. He twists in his seat and looks over at the bar. "Anyone want a drink?"

The girls ask for another pitcher and David ignores him, so Joe buys a bottle of scotch, and wedges it under his elbow as he carries over a tray holding one pitcher of coke and another of beer and a few clean glasses.

By the time he's made his way back through the crowd the girls are gone, and David's getting up and putting on his jacket.

"Where'd they go?" Joe asks, putting everything down.

David shrugs. "Dancing, or for some cigarettes – I wasn't really paying attention. Well," he adds, wearing a big fake grin, "good night."

"You going already?" Joe asks, resisting the urge to grab David by the arm and make him stay, just one goddamn time.

David tilts his head and starts to walk away.

"But I – " Joe says.

"Night!" David yells over his shoulder.

Joe's left standing at an empty table covered in booze. He looks around the room, but no one's looking at their corner and he can't see Torri or Rachel.

"Fuck it," he says, grabbing his jacket.

By the time he's outside David is gone, and Joe can't remember seeing his car when he pulled into the lot. He bites his lip – he's got a decision to make, and he needs to think fast. Or he can push it all away and go back inside and have a few drinks with his colleagues and everything will eventually go back to normal between him and David. If it were anyone else he wouldn't think it possible, but he knows, he knows that they can get past this.

But he doesn't want to.

He's in his car and driving to David's house before he knows it. He wracks his brain trying to remember some mention of Jane in the past few weeks – if she still lives there, if they've broken up – but he can't remember and he doesn't think it matter anymore. They need to talk.

All the lights bar one are out at David's tidy little house, so Joe parks on the curb and walks to the door quickly. He wants to start this before David's had too much time to stew.

He knocks, and it only takes a minute before the door is opened. David's mouth drops at the sight of him, and Joe barges his way through before David's had a chance to reconsider.

"Listen," Joe says, pacing a little. "I wanted to tell you – "

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Flanigan?"

"Listen, David," Joe begins again, slowly taking in the fact that he's stormed into David's house smelling of smoke and freezing air and leather, and David's standing there bare-footed and wearing a faded pair of boxers with an even more faded T-shirt.

"There's nothing to say," David interrupts him, crossing his arms over his chest, and Joe can see a bit of McKay getting into the act, and if he lets that happen he's screwed, because there's never been a time where McKay has ever given into Sheppard, so he steps right up into David's space and places his cold hands on David's face and kisses him.

They're stuck there; frozen at the lips, and Joe's not sure what David's going to do, but he's got his eyes scrunched up tight because if he's going to get punched, he doesn't want to see it coming. But then David's mouth softens and his hands unclench, and he leans into Joe's body and Joe groans, opening wide and letting David's tongue right in.

He feels his jacket being pushed off his shoulders as he's pushed down the corridor, and David's shirt is warm and soft beneath his hands, but he tugs it up and out of the way so he can get to skin. David's panting in his mouth and he can feel the back of the bed against his knees and he falls back, falls into it, spreads his legs and let's David open his pants and pull them out of the way.

His shirt is open and he thinks he's lost a button or two, but he's got David's hands in his hair and his bare stomach against his, and he's mumbling into David's mouth when he feels him pull away and slide down his body.

He feels a lick over the top of his pubic bone and shivers. "No," he says, pulling up on David's arms. "Up here. I want us both to feel it."

And David groans against his skin but slides back up, one perfect, perfect hand wrapped around Joe's cock, one perfect, perfect hand stroking the back of his neck, and Joe rolls them over onto their sides, getting a hand down between them so he can stroke David at the same time, his other hand clutching his glorious ass, guiding them, making them roll their hips in unison, making it good for them, good for them both, making it sweet, making it together.

It's quiet once they've come, and Joe doesn't want to let go, but his fingers are digging into David's stomach so he, with one last caress, pulls his sticky hand out from between them. David's got his face mashed up against his throat and Joe's loving the feel of his damp breath ghosting over his skin.

He can feel David's eyelashes fluttering so he knows he's still awake and probably trying to think of something to say. He hopes their conversation is easy, but knows there's a chance that there might be a bit of pain.

David lifts his head and looks down at him, gaze flicking between eye and forehead and mouth and back again. He must see something in Joe's face, because he smiles; a little bit sad, a little bit resigned, a whole lot content. He leans down and gently kisses Joe on the cheek, and at the corner of each eye, and on the tip of the nose. Joe lifts his head and David kisses him on the mouth, gently, many times, dry chaste kisses that seem like a mixture of promises and forgiveness and hope and relief. By the end, they're both smiling.

David sighs and lays his head down on Joe's chest. "You're one confused puppy, Flanigan."

Joe hums his agreement, low and deep in his chest. He's got nothing to say. He's happy.

David rests a hand on his stomach. "You're lucky I know you so well."

Joe wraps his arms around David, tightening his grip and presses a kiss onto the top of his head. He'll let go when David tells him to.


End file.
